


Project: Socialize Akechi Goro

by debinoresu



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akechi Goro Lives, Coming Out, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Love Confessions, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2019-12-18 15:41:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18252845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/debinoresu/pseuds/debinoresu
Summary: THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ONE SHOTS BUT ITS TURNING INTO NOT SO ONE SHOTS. This is about Akechi learning to understand intimacy and affection in interpersonal relationships, and Akira attempting to guide him through it. This will be a slow build of the relationship between the two of them as Akira guides Akechi in making friends with others and tries to teach him to not see social interaction as a threat.Mild spoilers/implications of spoilers.This takes place in an AU in which Akechi lives and takes temporary residence in Leblanc after the events of from the final palace. Akira stays at Leblanc as well, for the meantime. Akechi currently doesn’t leave Leblanc often, not having work or school to return to.





	1. A Touch of Spice

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter Summary: Akechi doesn't understand the purpose of inane physical affection, and thinks Akira wants something out of him. He tries to understand.

When Akira returned from school, he was a bit surprised to see Akechi sitting at the counter, nonchalantly reading a book. He looked somewhat relaxed. It felt almost as though it could have been just a few months ago, before every truth about Akechi he had so pondered came to light. He almost felt nostalgic to return to a lighthearted mutual existence with the other boy, but he knew he was only looking at it through rose-tinted glasses. Though tense, difficult, and oftentimes awkward, the open air between them was far preferable over the deceitful charm choked out through the heavy weight of his true intentions. Akira was certain Akechi would work out this new life he had been thrust into and would hopefully come to appreciate it.

Akira’s lips quirked upward, amused. It seemed the boy hadn’t noticed him yet, clearly absorbed in whatever it was he was reading. Akira could tell from one glance that it was _The Great Thief_. It was a part of the small library he had collected and proudly displayed at the Leblanc counter—though, it was the only one he didn’t explicitly own. He couldn’t quite bring himself to give it back to the school. Akechi reading a stolen book about thievery was too amusing, but he decided not to say anything about it. Instead, he decided to pursue another urge that had been bothering him: touching Akechi. He could recall, before… well, _everything_ , Akechi had been rather touchy-feely, but Akira had since come to realize that it had all been mere flattery: an active attempt to make himself seem likable rather than pursuit of genuine affection.

The past few weeks with Akechi had been… stressful. Akira hadn’t realized how emotionally and socially constipated the boy truly was until he started trying to eliminate the act. He supposed it would be difficult to remove a social mask when, for Akechi’s entire life, the only one he could share his true colors with was his own reflection. What point is there in identifying your personality and indulging in yourself if you’re only unguarded alone in your apartment? He had never shared a “true self” with another person. Certainly, Akira wore a social mask, as did anyone else, but there were times with his friends where he could acknowledge himself as truly relaxed, acting entirely out of himself and his impulses. Akechi had never experienced such a thing.

They were working on it.

So, in phase ??? of Akira’s ??? step plan of project socialize Akechi Goro, he carefully stepped around behind him and cheerily slung an arm around his shoulder, hunching into his personal space, leering around into his peripheral. “Whatcha readin’?”

In return, Akechi sharply turned to the arm slung around him, squinting and making a face that could only be described as absolutely flabbergasted disgust. “Wh-“ just as sharply, he turned to his right, face immediately falling into something relaxed yet irritated. “Ah.” Akira was a bit amused by the flat acknowledgement, grinning cheekily in response. However, Akechi’s next action took him a bit off guard. He faced forward again, eyes closed in resolve, and pinched two gloved fingers at Akechi’s sleeve, tugging it lightly up. It wasn’t enough force to actually pull the arm off, but Akira went along with the motion until his arm was suspended in air. “This,” Akechi stated, punctuating it with the release of the arm, “is not necessary, Kurusu.” Akechi’s arm relaxed back down to the table, folding his book closed, and he turned to face Akira once again, albeit a bit withdrawn to the left to reacquire some personal space. “We’ve no need for the… “schmoozing,” as you put it. You can ask me if you want anything of me. I owe you enough, I suppose.” His voice faltered at the end some, but he held his stoic expression. “Now, I presume you know exactly what book I’m reading, as you—what’s that face?”

Akira sharply turned away at the comment. His arm was still suspended in the air, fingers tensed slightly. “Just—” he stopped himself, bringing his hand around to shield his face somewhat. “Kurusu?” He could hear Akechi’s slight frown. Akira allowed his arm to relax some more from its position, dropping his elbow to his side, dragging his face down and further to the right, away from Akechi’s view. “Ku-… A-, Akira?” Akechi managed, and it felt unbearable to Akira. “No, don’t worry about it.” He swiftly turned and briskly walked around to the back entrance behind the counter, turned away from Akechi as he donned his apron. He could feel Akechi’s eyes on him and practically hear his anxious thoughts, the result of years of strict social upkeep and existence as a publicized figure. Akira donned his best poker face, pausing slightly, then walked around to the back of the counter and started readying the pour-over. He looked up at Akechi, smiling wide. “The usual, Akechi?” He wasn’t an idiot, though, and knew Akechi wouldn’t leave it at that, especially not after all the late-night talks they’d shared about _open communication_. It was moments like these that Akira regretted issuing such rules.

“Was it—was it the name? I apologize, Akira.”

Akira hummed. Akechi grew more anxious.

This side of Akechi had been brought out as he struggled to understand normal interaction, to not perceive interpersonal relationships as a battle. Particularly with Akira encouraging open communication, this almost surprising onslaught of anxieties worked its way into any interaction, Akechi horrified of snapping Akira’s patience for him and, simultaneously, toeing the line in temptation of snapping it himself.

“I said something wrong again, didn’t I?”

Akira set a cup in front of Akechi. Akechi stared into it, then cupped his hand over the top, closing off his reflection.

“I’m sorry, Akechi.”

“Don’t just pity me. We’ve addressed this. Help me,” Akechi commanded. This was their mutual agreement. To start a new bond, he’d have to teach Akechi how to have a bond with another person in the first place.

“It’s not—” Akira ran his fingers through his hair, choosing his words carefully. “I’m not pitying you. I touched you, and it clearly made you uncomfortable. I won’t overstep that boundary again. I just feel bad, that’s all. This isn’t your fault.”

“I was just trying to uphold the rules.”

Akira said nothing, simply quirking an eyebrow. Akechi sighed, understanding. More explanation. Talk about your feelings. Explain your feelings, Akechi, because you don’t wear them as openly at others.

“We agreed I was done with the… needless flattery, and superficial affections and incantations. In the pursuit of approval and deceit.”

Akira nodded.

“I was reminding you, there’s no need to do those things. No more of our little cat and mouse race.”

Akira tilted his head. “And why did you feel the need to remind me in that moment?”

Akechi was clearly confused, and Akira realized he’d have to talk more than he wanted to.

“Goro, that wasn’t superficial.”

Akechi frowned. “But what did you want? What would touching me accomplish?”

Akira shrugged. “Touching you.”

The other’s mouth opened and closed a few times, before finally letting out a small, “why? With no reason?”

This moment was uncomfortable, awkward, and tense. However, through all of that, _embarrassing_ seemed to grasp onto Akira, flushing his face red just as he had the chance to turn away and pretend to fiddle with the beans. “Affection, Goro. Not superficial affection. I wanted to express affection for you, and familiarity, because I feel affection for you. Like how… you laugh when you find something funny. It’s mere emotional response.” Having gotten out the worst of his speech, he turned back up to Akechi, even though he was now kneeled to the lower end of the bean shelf. “I didn’t think of your boundaries, and it clearly made you uncomfortable, so I’m sorry.”

Akechi wasn’t looking at him, and hid himself behind his coffee cup, taking a long sip. “I hate to ask this of you, but could I get a different roast? Mocha Matari.” Akira quirked an eyebrow but accepted that Akechi had decided to move on from this conversation. So, he relaxed, smiling slyly. “You sure? It’s a bit… _spicy,_ ” To this, Akechi thrust his cup towards him. “Sorry for not liking Lovecraftian octopus, Akira.” Then, at the quirk of the corner of his mouth, the lighthearted mood was returned.

Akira wordlessly took the mug, rotated it to the other end, and chugged the entire thing before heading over to set it in the sink. “Goodness, Akira, I didn’t realize you were so caffeine addicted you’d sample my leftovers.”

“I just hate to waste Boss’s beans. I rotated it, anyhow, so it’s not like you were in it.”

“It’s embarrassing to admit, but I have quite the habit with backwash. Are you so sure about that last statement?”

To that, Akira knocked his head back and let out a laugh, delighted at Akechi dropping the flawless act for even one somewhat distasteful joke. “Well, then,” he commented as he finished washing Akechi’s mug, “despite my best effort to resist, I suppose I’ve still scored an indirect kiss.” Akira turned back just in time to see Akechi slightly flush at the word _kiss_. “Don’t worry, I’m not a kiss thief on top of everything else. It’ll cover the cost of the second cup.” He finished, turning back to the mug he was now shaking out. Akechi said nothing, still. As Akira went to prepare the Mocha Matari, he glanced back up at Akechi, who seemed a bit too bothered by Akira’s tease. So, obviously, Akira extended it. “What, not enough? You drive a hard bargain, Goro.” Akechi bit his lip and snorted, still turning away, obviously flustered. Akira decided to finally give him a break, instead focusing on pouring. He was a bit distracted by Akechi turning back to face him in his peripheral and wound up over-filling the cup. Feeling the need to stick true to his previous statement of not wasting beans, he very arduously and delicately stepped over to Akechi, cupping the too-full mug in both hands.

As he reached outward to set it closer to Akechi so he could sip off the top, Akechi instead took hold of it right there, cupping his own hands around Akira’s and bringing the mug up to his lips. It was an odd exchange, but simultaneously felt incredibly intimate. Akira watched, wide-eyed, as Akechi idly sipped at the coffee until it was at a reasonable level to likely not spill. Then, carefully, Akechi guided the mug down to the table, Akira’s hands along with it. Akechi’s thumbs delicately looped around and under Akira’s palms, gently pulling them away from the mug. “There,” he sighed, contentedly, finally removing his hands from Akira’s own. Akira then realized, as Akechi reached over to the stool next to him, a very important detail.

His gloves had been off.

Akechi Goro had taken off his gloves.

Akira’s hands remained where Akechi had released them as he contemplated the plan Akechi had just executed. Had he intentionally discarded his favorite brew, randomly chose one of the visible beans in the back, and removes his gloves, all to prove a point? To touch Akira, hand-to-hand?

Well, it’s not exactly what the phrase _skin on skin_ brings to mind, but for Akechi it feels like something incredibly meaningful. So, Akira opted not to tease him for this choice and instead quietly withdrew his hands, rubbing at his own palms in an attempt to simulate the earlier intimacy. “Thoughts on this brew?” Akechi gives Akira a genuine smile, but quickly covered it with a re-gloved hand. “It’s good, but perhaps you were right that it’s a bit spicy. I’m feeling… heated,” his eyes darted to the side at the end. Whether Akira could tell why his face was actually red was left unsaid. Akira instead nodded, turning around to clean the pour-over.

“I’m glad you like it.”


	2. Sleepover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night Akechi's life is saved, Akira convinces him to stay at Leblanc for the meantime.
> 
> TW for some suicide idealization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This really should have been the first chapter, but this fic is stupid and self indulgent so it's gonna be all over the place and the pacing will be mostly nonexistent. Enjoy this weird attempt at a fanfic! This one is a bit more serious/sadder but it has the usual shuake banter.

It was 11 p.m. when Akira Kurusu finally managed to convince Akechi to stay at Leblanc for the time being. Sojiro had long since left in the midst of the arguing—for some reason, it hurt more that Sojiro insisted he had no opinion on housing Akechi than were he to insist Akechi go rot in the street somewhere—and so, they were left arguing late into the night, only taking the occasional break for Akechi to rest his head in his arms at the counter and Akira to step upstairs just long enough for them both to return to the argument with a fair amount of passion. What was the argument about, exactly?

“Listen, Akechi, I’ve said this multiple times, and I mean it when I say you are absolutely free to go do whatever the hell you want with yourself. But all I’m asking for is you to just _hear me out_.”

“I have, I’ve been listening, I’ve listened to you the first ten times, I’ve heard every fucking word! And I want _you_ to listen to me when I say you’re an absolute idiot, inviting me to stay here! _Especially_ to do so on his—” Akechi motioned to behind the counter, clearly referring to Sojiro, “behalf! I’ve heard you say those ridiculous words over and over, and I’d love to agree that I _am_ free to go do whatever the hell I want with myself. But it seems your actions betray your words, as you won’t seem to let me LEAVE this goddamn place!” Akechi punctuated that by sharply turning to Akira, who was currently leaning next to the only exit in the building. To this, Akira glanced behind himself, face contorted in a faux-confused expression, allowing a suitable amount of time before accenting it with an even more exaggerated one of faux-recognition.

“Oh, am I in your way?”

Akechi threaded his fingers through his own hair, gently rested his forehead on the counter, and slowly tightened his grip at the roots.

They sat there like that for a moment. Akira started to get a bit nervous he’d broken down Akechi’s resolve, until finally, Akechi bolted up and out of his chair with an exhausted grumble and stomped upstairs like a child forced to turn off his Xbox. Akira couldn’t help but smirk as he followed behind.

“You want to be roommates? Fine!” Akechi whisper-shouted. Akira wasn’t sure why the sudden change in volume. Perhaps the environment of a bedroom obligated him to a semblance of tact, manners long since slipped away at the loss of his Detective Prince façade. Well, Akechi’s volume wasn’t really Akira’s main concern at the moment. No, Akira was instead anxiously zoned into the fact that Akechi was moving his things about, regarding little concern to their potential fragility.

Akechi haphazardly shoved over everything on Akira’s shelf, halving the item distribution evenly between _well-kept mementos from friends_ and _absolutely nothing_. “This half is mine! It’s only fair, after all, if we’ll be sharing real estate!” He then sharply turned on his heel and proceeded to do the same to the shelf above his tool bench, though he struggled a bit to get all of the stuffed animals on one side of the strip of wood. Finished, he turned back to Akira with a huff, only to be struck by what he saw—Akira was _grinning_. That was not what he wanted at all.

“Are these stuffed animals? There’s only a year difference between us, Kurusu, and the majority of my social life has consisted of simpering to adults decades above me, yet I have never felt so affronted by a difference in mental age with another.” Akira looked at him, blank. “You’re a child,” Akechi finished, lips twisted up coyly. Thirst for blood still not quenched, and Akira clearly not displeased enough, Akechi turned to the back corner of the room. “What even is this? A statue? And—this poster—it simply will not do. I hate Rise, I am not a fan of her or her music. It’d only be due courtesy to take down this poster in my favor.”

Akira hummed.

“Have you ever owned something with a story behind it?”

“Wh-“ Akechi was taken aback.

“Sometimes, people don’t like the object itself, or even the subject of the object, but instead keep an item to remember how it was obtained.”

“I’m familiar with sentimentality.”

“Do you have anything like that?”

Akechi said nothing. His face was blank again, mask back in place. It was frustrating, but a good sign that Akira had found something vulnerable.

“If you do, we can go retrieve it from your apartment for you before the rent runs out. I’d hate to lose any of these things.”

Akechi’s mouth was a fine line. It felt as though he was trying to make his own mouth disappear entirely.

“I won’t take down the poster, but tomorrow we can go to Shibuya and get you one you’d like to hang up. Then it’s even. Maybe we’ll find something for the shelf, too.”

Akira reached over to the wall next to him, flicking off the light in the attic. Akechi kept to his stony expression but looked simultaneously stranded.

“It’s bedtime.”

Akechi nodded. Then, struck by inspiration, strode quickly to the bed and flopped into it.

“I get the bed. We’ll take turns each night. Like good roommates do.”

Akira tried not to laugh at the attempt to irritate him. He was going to offer the bed to Akechi, anyhow. This works in his favor—he knew if it was his idea, Akechi would have fought him on it, and probably have ended up sleeping on the floor just to spite him.

Akira wordlessly moseyed over to the couch, curling up into a ball to cope with the lack of blanket.

The tension in the air was so thick it couldn’t even be cut with a knife. Maybe a lightsaber, Akira mused.

“Hey, Akechi…”

In response, Akira heard a noise that distinctively sounded like an absolute drama queen ruffling his sheets in frustration. Good. He was listening.

“So, like… do you ever think about, you know… _the meaning of life?_ ”

To this, Akira received a pillow to the face. Excellent aim in the dark, he noted. “Great! We have existential talks in the dark down _and_ pillow fights? You’re getting this sleepover thing down pat!”

The response was muffled through sheets, but Akira was quite positive he overheard an amused snort. A smile on his face, Akira placed the pillow under his head and curled back up.

Not like he was going to sleep—neither of them was going to—but at least the tension wasn’t quite as suffocating.

It was 3am when either of them piped up again. The night, thus far, had consisted of anxious tossing and turning from Akira, and absolute woken stillness from Akechi.

“A… toothbrush,” Akechi managed, albeit quiet. Akira took a moment to recover from the shock of him saying anything at all, then reeled in realization.

“Oh, shit, yeah. We need to get you groceries,”

“I don’t need much. Just… hygiene. Hygiene products.”

Akira turned his head to look at Akechi. He couldn’t see much, but Yusuke’s glowing star stickers helped, allowing him to see just enough to know Akechi was pointedly _not_ looking at him.

“I bet you’re the kind of guy who uses like, expensive brands. Conditioner, or something.”

A snort.

“Conditioner isn’t—that’s not a brand. You don’t condition your hair?”

“I know it’s not a brand! I don’t know any conditioner brands. I don’t really need to condition.”

Akechi finally turned to look at him, presumably eyeing him suspiciously.

“That explains a lot,” he concluded, turning on his side to face the wall.

“What does that mean? My hair is soft!”

Nothing in response.

“I’ll make you touch it tomorrow. You’ll see. You’ll be shocked by how soft it is.”

“You never talked this much, before. I have to say, I liked you more with the air of mystery.”

Akira went still for a moment, pondering what Akechi had said.

“I mean, there’s no need for that… competition of mystique anymore. We’re just two teenagers in an attic, now.”

“No, you’ve absolutely conquered me. That’s what it is.”

“That’s not what—this isn’t about winning, Akechi. Or having won, or whatever you perceive this as.”

Back to silence.

“First thing tomorrow, you touch my hair. Then, we go shopping for your fancy groceries.”

“I-ugh-I don’t need too much. I can settle for the cheap- “

Akechi paused, realizing the error in his words.

“ _Settle?_ ” Akira excitedly raised his head, turning towards Akechi. “So, you admit it! You totally buy rich people brands!”

Akechi sputtered. “It doesn’t matter! I don’t even need conditioner. Just get me-

“No, whatever brand you want. I can afford it.”

“Don’t do that.”

“I’ll go to your apartment and raid your shower to see what brands you like, if you won’t say them.”

“You wouldn’t put in that much effort.”

Akira said nothing in response. Akechi turned, finally, to face him.

“Kurusu, don’t.”

Now, Akira isn’t facing Akechi. Akechi sits up in bed with a creak.

“Kurusu.”

Akira knows where silence matters more.

“Why are you doing this? This _charity?_ To stroke your ego? You’ve made it clear arguing about my worth or what I deserve is moot. However, I would like to know—what _do_ you think I’m worth? Is that what this is really about?”

“Well, no. I’m not… I don’t see myself as some almighty judge of others’ worth, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“It’s not, but it’s good to know you’re not _that_ entitled.”

“I’m not some flawless person of ultimate morals—I never said I was. I’m not that spectacular, really. I think I just confuse and frustrate you so much because I have two things you’ve been vying for—respect and to be liked—where you had convinced yourself they cannot coexist.”

“Never mind what I said about entitlement.”

“I’m just being honest,” Akira huffed as he rolled back over to face Akechi once again. This time, neither of them turned away. “I didn’t ask for the position of power I have in our group, and I didn’t ask for everyone to like me. It just kind of happened. I think that’s incredibly difficult for you to understand, people liking _and_ respecting someone by no effort of their own.”

Akechi was scowling. Probably. Unseen, but felt.

“But you _do_ put in effort. Don’t think I never noticed how many jobs you work just to afford more items for the group. And the time you put into group morale…”

“Akechi, I feel like there’s a fundamental misunderstanding here. I’m not putting in an intentional effort so that people will like me and respect me or _want_ me.”

“So we’re back to stage one: Kurusu Akira is a selfless deity, who puts in effort for no benefit of his own.”

“Let me finish! It does benefit me. Just… the effort itself… it’s _fulfilling_. It’s fulfilling to put in work, see results, see smiles. I like it. I’m not really living selflessly. I put in effort to fulfill myself—I suppose, if I felt doing awful things would fulfill me, then I would do awful things. I’m not really so fundamentally _good_ as you seem to be convinced.”

“Oh, great pep talk, _Leader_. You’re a naturally wholesome person who is rewarded fulfillment simply from being alive. This revelation is really going to turn me on a better path.”

“How scared are you, that you have to make this all so fucking difficult?” Akira snapped, finally. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m not building you up to let you down. Hell, right now? I’m not even trying to change you. At this moment, at—” Akira paused, clicking on his phone. “3:48 A.M. on a Sunday, I’m not trying to do _anything_ but TALK to you.”

Akechi went quiet, frozen. He wanted to bite back, do anything in his power to argue, but the simple use of the word _scared_ had cornered him. He loses if he argues back, but he also loses if he doesn’t. So, he said nothing, for the time being.

Akira, meanwhile, pinched at the bridge of his nose and turned to face the ceiling, grounding himself in the childish stars pasted about.

“I’m not trying to say I’m fundamentally good. I’m just trying to explain to you… that I, and a lot of other people, are fulfilled by that kind of stuff. And, I guess you wouldn’t really know, but I think you’re fulfilled by those types of things, too.”

Akechi let it settle in. Then, realization dawned on him, and he snapped up.

“That’s harsh.”

“Huh?”

“ _I wouldn’t really know,_ hm?”

Akira was overheard stumbling over his words in the dark.

“Not- I’m not saying- I mean… do you feel fulfilled by what you do? The things you have done? Do you think you would have felt fulfilled if your plan had worked, and you had been acknowledged by Shido, and finally killed him? What was your plan after that, Akechi? Even if that would have fulfilled you in some twisted way, it wouldn’t be sustainable…”

Akechi paused, pretending to think about what he would do.

He knew exactly what he expected to happen after that, of course. In a sense, it had been an unaddressed part of his plan, but an important part, nonetheless.

“Nothing.”

He was hoping for some semblance of curious acknowledgement from Akira, but it seemed this was one of the moments Akira decided silence would be more effective. And dammit, no matter how much it frustrated him, Kurusu Akira was an expert in the art of silence.

“Nothing afterwards. Revenge against him… was my _life plan_. So, nothing.”

“You planned to commit suicide?”

He expected the question—he was sure Akira was planning on saying it before asking the first question. Having anticipated it, he thought he would feel prepared, yet—in this moment—Akechi felt so _disarmed_. Was it the implication of weakness in the prospect? Was it the fact that _suicide_ hadn’t ever been his word choice? Whatever reason it may have been, Akechi knew he was furious with its delay of his answer. Yet another loss for team Akechi Goro.

“I suppose,” he responded, finally, “if that’s how you want to put it. I never consciously decided as much, I just expected my life to extinguish at some point in the case of my success.”

“I’m not saying you’d hang yourself. You wouldn’t let yourself die like that.”

“You know me too well.” The bitter smile was audible.

“That’s why you tried to close the shutter on us, then.”

“No, I was saving you and all of your friends from the unstoppable cognitive Akechi. Unless you’re planning to ask them to take back the begrudging words of thanks they so graciously gave me.”

“I knew we could have helped you defeat him. You knew it, too. The other thieves aren’t foolish enough to not accept such a hypothesis, were I to propose it.”

Akechi closed his eyes. “They wanted me to be good.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“You never brought it up to them?”

“That you were trying to stop us from saving you?”

“Yes.”

“No, not really. I didn’t see a point. I suppose, whether the action encouraged feelings of admiration or pity, it ultimately weighed the same in changing their opinion of you. I figure you would prefer they keep the savior idea, so I never discussed it with them.”

They were quiet for a moment, again. Obviously, they couldn’t try to sleep from this point, there were still too many loose ends in the conversation. They were getting somewhere, though.

Akechi laughed dryly.

“It’s pathetic either way. My pride is long gone. I appreciate the consideration, though.”

“Welcome… hey, wait, we went off on a bit of a tangent. So, obviously, it wasn’t fulfilling—”

Now, Akechi laughed for real. “It seems not!” he canted, amusement in his voice. The mood then dropped like a lead ball. “What a roundabout, useless life I’ve led.”

“Is it still a consideration? A viable option?”

“Hm?”

“Suicide.”

“Ah.”

Akechi had to consider that one. “It’s only been one day since my plan failed.” A more complicated way of saying, _let me think about it_. Akira nodded, probably.

“Keep me updated on that. Will you humor me, until then?”

“How so?”

“Give this—” the silhouette of an arm was seen waving in a circle. “a chance.”

“The roommate thing? I thought I was being quite open.”

“No, no—what I told you about earlier. How I live, and how it fulfills me. It doesn’t have to be the same, but…just, hang out with me. With us. We can even start tomorrow. With groceries.”

“Your friends haven’t agreed to such an arrangement.”

“No, it’ll probably just be you and me for a little while, until I convince them.” The next words said with a grin. “I hope you won’t mind.”

“I may be able to bear it.”

“Alright. Tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Akechi.”

“Sweet dreams, dear.” And thus, with a last dose of sarcasm, Akechi and Akira proceeded to continue quietly laying awake in the same room, each respectively loathing the sleep deprivation they were sure to suffer the next day.


	3. Goal setting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akira is having a bad day. Akechi and Morgana go out to town to give him some space and assemble a care package.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is crazy long!! i hope you guys like it. i got sort of carried away. it gets more into the shippy side of things. this takes place a couple weeks into akechi's stay at leblanc. once again, im so sorry i cant devote to a proper narrative structure lmao. we're just gonna keep hopping all over the place here.

It was something he hadn’t yet considered. As much as he’d like to owe this fact to how reserved Akira was, the only valid answer here was simple neglect on his part. He had neglected to think about one thing:

Kurusu Akira had bad days. More than that, he had bad moods, bad feelings, bad thoughts… this opened a world of other possibilities. Kurusu’s insecurities, self-doubts, emotional history, tendency to cry, etcetera. It felt almost mythic in nature, and yet here he was, suddenly faced with all these ideas like a door to the face. It probably would be a literal door to the face if Kurusu’s room had a door. Now, Akechi could only wonder if _that_ was one of many things that bothered Akira. He just had seemed so… ineffable. A mythical being that had fully conquered emotions or existed outside of their reach.

It was just… hard to comprehend.

Which is why Akechi had been lingering in the room for way too long, processing a million other concepts all alongside Akira’s desperate request.

“Akechi, _please._ ”

Flinching out of his own thoughts, Akechi nodded wordlessly and briskly stepped for the stairs. He descended the first few quickly but spared a glance over his shoulder partway.

He saw Akira, who had been sat on the bed, holding his face in his hands, pull his legs up onto the bed and flop on his side, rolling over into the wall. He hurriedly finished his descent—it felt like a moment of vulnerability he shouldn’t have seen.

Akechi had simply been reading a book on the couch, idly tuning into the news which he’d left quietly playing to his right. He heard someone ascending and, up to this point, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. All was typical to the disgustingly domestic schedule Akechi had found himself lapsing into at Leblanc. About this time, Monday to Saturday, Akira would return from school, return to his room to change out of his uniform, and then potentially invite Akechi on his next excursion. It had only been a couple of weeks and Akechi hadn’t quite settled into enough of a friendship with anyone to invite anyone else out. That aside, it probably wasn’t smart of him to be out alone, anyhow.

So, Akechi reached over and turned off the TV, turning his attention back to his book and pretending as though he wasn’t eagerly awaiting Akira’s return. God, what was this gross reliance he’d developed for his previous _murder victim_? Would he ever acquire any semblance of normalcy in life?

Bad thoughts. He’s been trying his absolute best to avoid spiraling down a self-deprecating hole. What happened when Akira finished climbing the stairs, however, made that a bit difficult.

“Akechi.”

His tone of voice immediately bristled him. He kept his eyes on his book for a moment, discarding his planned tone and response. Recalculated. _Kurusu doesn’t sound great_. Finally, he dragged his eyes up to look at him.

Damn, did he look _wiped._

Akira looked, really, the same as usual. But there were parts to him—the nonchalant relaxed way he stood, the shine in his gray eyes, his determined gaze, his well-controlled expression—that were lacking, in that moment. He looked like a husk of himself. Akechi knew not to say anything—it wasn’t a greeting, but a call to attention.

“Could you—could you _please_ ,” Akira started, trudging over to his bed. Once reaching the bed, he took a momentary breather—exhausted emotionally, seemed like—and slowly slid himself onto the bed. His legs spread a bit and he hunched over, elbows gathered in his lap, hands reaching to drag down his face. A million things went through Akechi’s mind. Had he done something wrong? Did he kill someone he didn’t know about? Had Akira only been pretending to tolerate him, but he’d reached his limit?

“Morgana… is downstairs, waiting for you. Could you just… go out for a bit?”

Akechi closed and withdrew his book, setting it down quietly on the couch. He felt like he had to be delicate—as though the force of simply setting down a book a little too hard would send a shockwave capable of shattering Kurusu Akira, in this moment.

“Just… give me a day. Give me a day, man.”

Kurusu wasn’t partial to such slang, typically. It was a subconscious effort to lift his tone, spoken like an exhausted parent patronizingly deadpanning pet names to their child after a hard day at work, begging to be left alone. It was a tone Akechi had become all too familiar with, but also one he hadn’t heard yet in his “second chance,” as Akira had once put it. It absolutely meant _get the hell out of here right now, any fondness of you I had is draining the longer you stay in this room_ , yet Akechi found himself frozen until the final plea.

Now, he considered what he had just witnessed, standing at the base of the stairs. A shrill voice brought him back to reality.

“Oh! There you are. Don’t dilly dally! We’re going shopping!”

Akechi stared blankly at Morgana, then nodded and somehow carried himself to the front door.

“Hey! Ask Boss if he needs anything.”

“He talking to me?”

A pause. Back to reality, Goro.

“Ah, yes. He asked if you needed anything while we were out?”

Sojiro eyed Akechi suspiciously. “Just you and the cat today?”

“Yep. Akira’s… you know. One of those moods.” Morgana managed the closest expression to a frown a cat could muster.

Sojiro was looking expectantly in Akechi’s direction… oh, right.

“He said Kurusu’s in one of his moods.”

Sojiro nodded and sighed, resting his forehead in his palm. “We gotta get him to talk about this at some point. I’m worried for the kid.” Attention back to the pair of them. “Should I close up for the day?”

Morgana shook his head. “He didn’t say so. I mean, he didn’t say much of anything, but…”

“He doesn’t think you need to. Kurusu didn’t say anything to me about it, either.”

Sojiro nodded. “Alright. Well, I don’t need anything. Have fun. _And stay out of trouble_.”

With that, Akechi went to leave—only to be halted by high pitched mewling from behind.

“Hey! Whadd’ya think you’re doing?” Morgana tried to stomp on the counter, but it didn’t really produce any sound. Soft paws, and all. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Can’t you walk? All four legs, and all.”

“I’ll get crushed out there! You gotta carry me in the bag, like Akira does! Don’t make this more trouble than it has to be.”

Lazy cat.

Akechi held back a sigh. Or, well, he wanted to hold it back. Honest.

After getting the bag—which, Christ, how heavy was he?—the pair headed to Shibuya.

No words were spoken until they had boarded the metro. “I’m getting crushed back here, idiot!” Akechi opted to play as though he, once again, could not understand the cat. Simultaneously, and totally by coincidence, he leaned back into the bag some more, which earned him a loud mewl.

“OY! AKECHI!”

He was simultaneously mildly regretful of the attention he’d attracted and satisfied to have teased Morgana. Begrudgingly, he reached around his side and swung the bag around, clutching it to his chest. Might as well use this as an excuse to talk about what’s been assaulting his mind.

“Any clue what’s wrong with Kurusu?” he whispered into the bag, keeping his eyes trained ahead, scanning the crowd around them.

“Mm… no, not really. I can only guess based on his body language. This just… happens sometimes. I mean, I’m sure you’ve noticed how much he _loves_ talking about himself and his problems.”

Akechi hummed. “Yes, he’s quite solitary. You didn’t witness any particular breaking point?”

“Well—hey, wait, why are you prodding for his weaknesses?”

“Oh, please.” Akechi huffed in return. He didn’t really have the right to be offended by such an implication—he hadn’t done much at this point to prove to everyone else that he…

Uh.

What did he feel for Akira? He’d admit, he had genuinely enjoyed his company even before this entire social rehabilitation project he’d established.

“I suppose… it’s somewhat cruel for me to feel as much, but I do care for him.”

“ _You’re_ worried?”

Akechi scowled at an incidental passenger across the way. Sorry, random person. It wasn’t intended for you.

“Yes, _I’m_ worried.”

“Hey, don’t get all miffed! I think it’s fair I’m surprised.”

Morgana sighed and rolled around in the bag, considering something.

“You know, Akira frustrates me a lot. It’s hard to get him to go to bed at a reasonable hour, he neglects his own health and stamina in battles, the fact that he always closes everyone off… but the most frustrating thing he’s done lately is care so much about _YOU_.”

Akechi turned away, focusing intently on the wall next to him. He swallowed the tempting words, _how so_ , or _in what way_ , or any other combination of words that would make the cat spill how Akira talks about him when he isn’t present. Thankfully, Morgana spilled anyways. Akechi was, for the first time, thankful for how talkative he was.

“You know how many times he’ll linger in a store and ask me _do you think Akechi would like this?_ Or how long it takes him to order food for you on nights he brings a meal back to Leblanc. _Does he eat burgers? Or is he more of a chicken nugget kind of guy_? Were you under the impression he was genuinely such a _Featherman_ fan, to so regularly borrow Futaba’s boxsets and watch it with you for _hours?_ He wouldn’t know anything about the characters if you asked him! He’s not even paying attention to the show! Or the times he’s left a memo in his phone just to remind himself to take you somewhere new! Do you think every activity he drags you along to is coincidentally set up to include you, but he would have gone without you regardless? You just happen to slot into his plans?” Morgana’s head popped out of the bag, forcing Akechi to face him. “He’s practically showering you with _affection_ and _care_ and _thought_ and you don’t even deserve any of it! You don’t even seem to realize it! You haven’t even offered to be on a first name basis with him. You’ve offered him nothing in return.”

Akechi chewed at his lip. “I.” Were all those things true? Did he plague his mind so often? “I haven’t been… entirely naïve.” Well, that’s generous to yourself, Akechi. “I figured they ‘accidentally’ gave him a double order a suspicious amount of times, when he had enough food to share with me.”

“Agh!” Morgana groaned, curling back up into the bag. “You’re hopeless! People like you are the reason he’s like this, I bet. Closing himself off… nobody gives his feelings any thought at all, and now he won’t tell anyone about them!”

Well, now Akechi felt _awful_ , not just worried. “Do you… this mood of his. Is it…?”

“No, as much as I’d like to say _you’re ruining him_ , the idiot is giddy that you even exist at all. This just happens. He never talks about anything to anyone, and at some point, he’s compelled to completely isolate himself for a little while to bear it. That’s my theory, at least. It’s… I mean, I’m worried, too.”

Morgana’s tone lowered. He didn’t seem sure about talking so personally to Akechi, but ultimately resolved to confide in him. “I mean… if he didn’t feel obligated to personally tend to every single person in Tokyo, I don’t know if he’d even leave bed most of the time. Who knows what his life was like before he came here? All I know is there’s nobody back there he feels the need to keep in touch with. I’ve noticed the only contacts in his phone are people he met in his time here. You know, as much as you hate our _justice_ and _friendship_ , it’s the only thing keeping him running.”

Ouch. The last words were particularly scalding. Akechi sighed, turning his attention back to Morgana. “So, he totally fails regarding self-care and consideration, and compensates for this by holding himself responsible to everyone _else’s_ self-care and consideration.”

“That’s what I’ve gathered.”

There was only one thing on Akechi’s mind as the car screeched into the station.

_How do I get Kurusu Akira to open up?_

\--

This exercise in expressing care was proving more difficult than Akechi had first thought. He figured, _oh, I’ll see something in passing that I think he’d like and get it for him and it’ll make everything all better_. If only he could get past step one. Morgana was all complaints as Akechi spent forever considering every single item each store carried. He was realizing, quickly, that he knew nothing about Kurusu Akira.

“What sort of food does he like?”

“I don’t know! He just gets whatever anyone else would like!”

“Any favorite genre? Franchise?”

“He watches and reads anything. Hell, I’ve seen him read _instruction manuals_ like they’re a page-turner.”

“Does he collect anything?”

“Not that I’ve seen. Unless you count a hodge-podge of mementos from friends.”

Akechi was realizing just as quickly that he wasn’t alone in knowing nothing about Kurusu Akira. Chances were, this is how Akira wanted it. He’d be supremely satisfied to witness Akechi struggle to care for him, certainly.

“I mean… he tries to keep up to date with whatever’s in the UFO catchers in Akiba?”

Oh, god. Akechi hated games of chance. Particularly ones that implied skill had anything to do with it. Hesitantly, he inquired, “has he gotten the most recent one?”

“I’m unsure. Because we’d been busy with the palace, he hasn’t been there for a few weeks…”

Great. Alright. Next stop: Akiba. First, however, Akechi had decided to put together a sort of care package. He hated being so unsure about what to _get_ him, exactly, but he could just get a random thing from each place and hope Akira liked some of it. At the very least, Morgana could tell him if it was something Akira already owned.

After their spree through Shibuya, Akechi had accumulated a bit of a haul. First, they acquired two books—one, a self-help book, which Morgana thought might be a good idea given how Akira pursues everything like it’s an assigned task, and the other, _Myth and Religion of the North_ —an encyclopedia of Norse mythos. Mythology had all the splendor of fiction yet retained a notable reflection of cultural standards. It seemed like the sort of thing that may suit Akira. It’s always nice to explore other cultures. After the books, they explored the DVD store. Morgana had commented that Akira seems to stubbornly refuse to actually buy any DVDs, instead opting to rent—and usually ending up with a late fee exceeding 1000 yen. It was a bit reflective of his lack of particular interest in any one thing—he just seemed to constantly try new things, finish them, and leave it at that. Akechi ultimately decided to rent one Akira had never seen before. He ended up getting the film _Still Walking_ , which seemed emotional enough to get out a good cry, but not be overwhelming. The description of it was vague, but it seemed like some sort of moving family movie. Akira seemed quietly sentimental—Akechi didn’t think it’d do much for himself, however. It was a bit of a risk to see if Akira would even be up for watching a movie, but they had a week to watch it.

Akechi typed in an alert in his phone’s calendar reminding himself to return it within the time limit. It was the first time he’d scheduled something since moving into Leblanc with Akira, and he was a bit taken aback when it did open.

It felt almost comically studious of him to schedule out everything… the planned murders, psychotic episodes… even the murder of Akira. He wondered if, when his phone was bugged, Sakura-san could even see his calendar—obviously, he used codenames for everything, but that just made it more embarrassing. Did she laugh and text Akira, “you won’t believe what he scheduled for 11/20— _Checkmate_!”

No. Obviously, she didn’t. It wasn’t funny.

Despite this, Akechi couldn’t help but feel he deserved to be laughed at.

He fiddled with the settings of the app for a bit until he found a way to clear everything, wiping the calendar clean. It made him feel a little better, until he remembered he probably shouldn’t pursue _comforting_ himself. He wasn’t supposed to be the one recovering. Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he entered in the DVD notification once more and continued along to their next stop: the underground mall.

It wasn’t a place he had frequented much, instead opting to stay up top. The LED lighting made him look atrocious, and he couldn’t afford to have bad paparazzi photos out.

Now that nobody was talking about him, he surmised it didn’t really matter.

The mall was a bit overwhelming, with useless objects and knickknacks everywhere he turned. He was a bit overwhelmed… especially with how he kept forgetting what little money he had. As much as he despised working for Shido, he had been somewhat well-off, financially. A lot of the money provided to him was intended to pay for frequent outings so he would be seen in the media as much as possible. Akechi hadn’t realized how he had come to take that for granted. It was a bit of a wakeup call, to realize he couldn’t just buy anything here that he wanted.

Perhaps sensing his struggle, Morgana popped his head out of the bag and pawed at his arm. “Hey, Akira works part time at that flower shop sometimes! Maybe he likes flowers?” Akechi, not really in a place to question him, obliged and went over to the shop in question. “Hello!” the (presumed) shop owner greeted him. “Are you looking for a bouquet today? Or are you a gardener yourself?”

“Oh, no, I’m,” he felt heat rise to his cheeks and his eyes instinctively dodged the woman’s gaze. “A bouquet. Hoping to get one, that is.” Damn, why was he nervous? He supposed he had never bought someone something so… _personal_ before. It was a generally overwhelming. He didn’t even know where to start.

As if reading his mind, she followed with, “is this your first time buying one? Would you like help picking the flowers?” To that, Akechi nodded wordlessly. Then, the questioning began.

“Why are you getting this person this bouquet?”

“Well, he’s… he seems overworked. I think he tends to isolate himself, so I’m just trying to help him feel better and maybe encourage him to open up some and take better care of himself.”

“Ah, I see.” She immediately began gathering flowers, starting with these long stalks with clusters of yellow flowers. “Is he important to you?”

Akechi tensed. What was the right answer here? He was most worried about Morgana, obviously listening intently to this conversation. He suddenly felt as though he had been thrown into an impromptu test. He supposed he could just speak the truth… but it was mildly embarrassing. Would Morgana prefer he stay detached? Would he find it cruel of him to care for Akira, given the things he had done? Morganas words from before ring through his mind.

_He’s practically showering you with affection and care and thought and you don’t even deserve any of it!_

Akechi closes his eyes and exhales. What matters here is what would be best for Akira… what Akira would want. So, for once, Akechi chose to be honest about his feelings.

“I haven’t known him long, but… he’s very important to me. I don’t feel I’ve earned his friendship, yet he is so amiable… I often find myself longing to be closer to him. He’s an important person.”

He felt Morgana shift in his bag a bit. Right answer? Maybe he was taken aback by the honesty. The owner seemed unphased, surely handling a variety of feelings every day in her work. She grabbed a few flowers of a breed Akechi recognized—orchids of a pale pink color—and added them to the mix. Akechi didn’t know what her choices meant, but the combination thus far looked quite pretty. Then, she stalled, and turned to Akechi with a coy look.

“Is he cute?”

Akechi fumbled with his words, choking on sentences he wasn’t even sure the intended meaning of. She nodded, as if that was all she needed to hear, and began gathered small 5-petal blooms around the rim of the bouquet. Akechi grew nervous, unsure of the kind of bouquet she was building here. “He—were—he’s not,” Akechi began, then cleared his throat and gave himself a moment. “We’re… friends. Like I said, I’m unsure why, but he’s quite friendly.” She reached for another orchid, this one white-colored. “ _Friendly.”_ Akechi repeated, unsure what exactly he was dissuading her from. The woman turned and studied his face, which was still red and slightly sweaty at this point.

With a nod, she took one white orchid and placed it right in the center, handing Akechi the bouquet. It was a lovely assortment of pastels and it was soothing just to look at. Akechi reached for his wallet but hesitated. “What does… uh, what do the flowers mean?” She sighed and pointed to each flower, indicating what they were. “ _Rainbow Sage_. Wishes for a happy future—so he gets well and prospers. _Gecko Orchids_. Flowers to indicate someone is precious to you. _Justice Jasmine_.” Then, with a wink, “for someone who’s adorable.” Akechi flushed at this, about to stammer out a weak _hey, wait, I never confirmed that_ , but was cut off. “And _this_ ,” she continued, pointing at the white orchid, “is the most important one of all.”

Akechi felt anxious. What could such an unassuming flower mean?

“This orchid… really adds to the color balance! It breaks up the other colors and makes a bouquet radiate!” She finished. Akechi flushed, embarrassed to have been so riled by her teasing. He quietly finished paying for the bouquet and thanked her, leaving the underground mall a bit absentmindedly as he admired her work. Morgana peeked out of the bag to take a look, too.

“Oh! It’s nice! I think Akira will like it!” he yelled, simultaneously to Akechi’s chagrin and satisfaction. “Yes, she was very skilled at picking out the flowers.” Morgana’s face suddenly contorted into one of confusion as he leaned in a bit closer. Akechi helped him slightly, pulling the bouquet closer to the bag.

“Is that… an _Adoration Orchid_?” Morgana asked, more to himself than to Akechi. In fact, Akechi could hardly make out what he had said.

“She said it just helped the color balance…” Akechi murmured, and Morgana studied him inquisitively before resigning himself back to the bag with a brief “my mistake.”

Akechi stalled in the walkway momentarily, eyeing the bouquet, before he continued along to Akiba.

\--

“So… Akira… likes whatever _this_ is?”

“I don’t think he particularly cares about the subject matter. Maybe he just likes collecting limited merchandise?”

Akechi nodded, staring at what the UFO catcher currently had in stock. It was a small figurine of a girl with a reddish-brown ponytail and a red bow. Her uniform looked sort of like Shujin’s. “What is this even from?”

“Akira wouldn’t even know, he just wants these for some reason. Are you gonna try getting it for him?”

“I mean, I’d like to.”

And so, Akechi stared longingly at the machine, and Morgana realized something new about Akechi.

“Have you never played a UFO catcher!?” Akechi turned his head away from the bag, favoring the view of the wall instead. “No way! What sort of childho—oh, wait. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I’ve come to terms with having materialized into existence at age 14.”

“That’s a roundabout way of saying you had no childhood.” Morgana mused.

Akechi smiled. “I’m not as infinitely bitter about it as you seem to think. I can tell jokes too, cat.”

With Morgana proper riled, Akechi returned his attention back to the machine. He was either going to be a natural at it and spark a new celebrity identity as the _Arcade Prince_ , or he would fall victim to the elusive nature of the prize machine.

The answer was made clear after all of his yen had been exhausted, yielding no results. “Man, you’re hopeless! Akira always gets it by the third try.” Akechi didn’t entertain Morgana’s teasing, instead bringing the bag to his face to give an important order.

“He will hear no word of this, is that clear? As far as he’s concerned, our day ended with the bouquet.”

“What sort of threat is that? Besides, I’m sure he’d be _touched_ to know you attempted such a feat for him!” Akechi scowled. It was more light hearted than… previous scary faces Morgana had witnessed from the boy, but still, he yielded. “Alright, alright! I get it. He won’t hear about this failed mission.”

“Good.”

The only other words exchanged between the two of them on the way back was a quick, barely-there _“thank you for the help today”_ from Akechi. Morgana merely huffed and shifted in response.

They got back to find Sojiro wiping the counter. “It’s late. I was getting worried.”

“My apologies. We got preoccupied.”

“I wouldn’t have let him get into any trouble, anyways!”

Akechi translated. “The cat was keeping an eye on me, anyhow.”

Sojiro didn’t respond for a bit, finishing his cleaning. He then turned behind himself and took out two plates of curry, offering them to Akechi. “I’m going to close up. Try to get the boy to eat something, alright? I heard some creaking earlier, so I think he’s up.”

Akechi offered a genuine smile. “You’re too hospitable.” Sojiro dismissed him with a wave of his hand, turning around the counter’s corner to leave. “Yea, yea. It’s not for your sake. Lock the door behind me, alright?” Akechi nodded, gaze following Sojiro on his way out, reaching behind him and turning the lock once Sojiro had left. He then laid out their spoils of the day on the counter.

“It really doesn’t look like much, all laid out like that…”

Akechi agreed. Two books and some flowers… was that really all they had gotten? Well, and a movie rental, but that hardly counted.

Akechi began arranging it in a more presentable way, tucking the books and movie in the outer wrapping of the bouquet. He carefully balanced the two plates of curry on one arm and cradled the bouquet with the other and began his ascent up the stairs.

It was dark. Akira had made himself quite the depressive cave of the attic while they were out. There was an uneaten plate of food and a full cup of water by his bed, evidence of Sojiro’s worry and Akira’s self-neglect. Akira was curled up against the wall in bed, only his mop of hair visible, but based on Sojiro’s earlier testimony Akechi concluded he was playing possum. There would be a relief at seeing him, Akira’s presence usually comforting, but the sad nature of the scene before him just made his mission feel all the more urgent. He fumbled in the dark, setting down the plates, the bouquet, and the bag with Morgana, then turned and hesitantly turned on the light. Akira had been given his full of privacy—now he needed to take care of himself, even a little bit. The light had to go on. Akechi was expecting a groan of protest from the boy in question, but he didn’t even move. Jeez, this was depressing.

Not prepared to talk to Akira just yet, he went and gathered the now cold plate of curry and set it at the table across the room, grabbing the warm plates and sitting very gently on the bed. Morgana eyed him cautiously from across the room, keeping his distance and letting Akechi handle the difficult part. _I appreciate the help, brat._ Akechi quipped internally.

He turned hesitantly behind himself to Akira, tempted to touch him in some way, but opted to begin with words, instead. “Good evening, Akira. You must be hungry.” No response. Great.

“Morgana and I had a wonderful day on the town. We’re quite chummy now, I think I may replace you.”

“Hey! That’s not true,”

“You spoiled my ruse. I almost had him convinced.”

Still nothing. Usually he couldn’t resist the call of banter. Akechi bit back a sigh.

“Sojiro was worried about you. He made you a warm plate of curry. Boss’s orders to make you eat it.”

Finally, Akira mumbled something. It was unintelligible, but it was something.

“What was that?”

Akira turned slightly, pulling his face from the ball of covers it’d been concealed in. “Already wasted a plate. Hate to…”

“Oh, the cold plate?”

Akechi glanced up at the plate on the table. “It’s not ruined, is it? I was planning to put it in the fridge. You can have it for breakfast, so it’s fine. You’ll feel better if you eat the warm plate now, I think.” God, was Akechi trying hard here. Was this what he had been like when he first moved in?

It was likely more so the guilt of leaving a cold plate that pulled Akira’s body up, but finally, he sat up. Akechi tried not to stare, but boy did he look _terrible_. There was bountiful evidence of crying all over his face and he looked dead tired despite having stayed in bed all afternoon. His day had likely been a miserable back and forth of depressive blankness and emotionally overwhelming fits. Akechi did his best to not show his empathy on his face, setting the warm plate in Akira’s lap. “Here you are. Let’s dig in.”

Obviously, it wasn’t that easy. Akechi figured out the only way to get Akira to eat was to only take a bite himself when Akira took a bite and fill the empty air with nothing but complaints of hunger whenever Akira would stall their eating in favor of getting trapped in whatever familiar hell he’d established in his brain. He felt a bit bad for using Akira’s guilt to his advantage, but he had to get him to eat something. At one point, he refused to eat anything until Akira would finish the glass of water that had been set out, realizing the sodium in the curry might not mesh well with Akira’s dehydration. Then, they continued, miraculously cleaning their plates. It felt like a battle, but it still had gone much better than Akechi had expected. When they finished, Akechi took both of their plates and the cold plate of uneaten curry and set them downstairs, wrapping up the cold plate and placing it in the fridge. After washing the dirty dishes, he returned upstairs to be faced once again with a mop of black hair. “Hey, it’s no good to lay down right after eating. It hinders digestion.” Akechi side-eyed Morgana on his way by. Apparently, Morgana decided to leave Akira to Akechi for the night. Grabbing the makeshift care package, Akechi returned to the bed.

“Hey.” He tried. It seemed he had worn Akira down some, because he sat up much easier this time. He tilted the items in Akira’s direction. “I got you some things while we were out.” Ooh, that seemed to peak his interest. He pulled his legs around and joined Akechi on the edge of the bed to accept the gift. Now that he seemed more aware, Akechi was starting to get a bit nervous.

“It’s not much,” Akechi forced out as Akira took the bundle from his hands. “Just a couple of books. I also rented a movie, if you’d be interested in watching it. It’s called _Still Walking_.”

“A bouquet,” Akira said quietly.

“Oh, and that.”

He didn’t say anything for a bit, just stared blankly at the items. Then, Akechi noticed that his lip was quivering, and went into a panic. Akira laughed softly at Akechi’s expression and patted at his own under eyes. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to cry. I’m all dried up, anyways.” He turned to fully face Akechi, forcing eye contact. “I really, really appreciate this, Akechi.” Akechi gawked, feeling warm, grateful, proud, and relieved all at once.

“Thank you,” that earned him another laugh from Akira.

“No, no, that’s when you say, _you’re welcome._ ”

Akechi couldn’t hold back his grin. “I know what I said.” Then, flustered, he turned away, hand covering his own mouth. Rarely did he ever get a smile as burning as this. “I’m glad you appreciate it.” It was so utterly relieving to heat Akira talking again. There was a croaky tired nature to his voice that reminded Akechi he hadn’t magically healed everything that was wrong, but he had at least gotten Akira’s attention away from whatever it was for a little while. It felt liberating in more ways than one. He hadn’t realized how terribly Akira’s mood had been weighing on his mind until this moment.

“I hate to ask more of you, but could you get me a glass?” Akechi nodded and reached for Akira’s water glass, but Akira halted his hand’s trajectory. “For the flowers.”

“Ah.” Akechi did so, though he may have taken a moment to flail his arms downstairs as he pondered just why he was so flustered. This all felt so frustratingly intimate, he decided. If he could bear it, maybe he could allow it to stay as such—intimate.

When they had properly rehomed the flowers, Akira finally stood up, wobbling a bit on hardly used feet. Akechi could tell he would be fine, so he decided not to comment on his instability, worried it may only wound his pride and feed his guilt further. Akira carefully set the arrangement at the top center of the shelf, stepping back to admire it. “I hope you don’t mind if I infringe upon your space a bit. We can say it’s a shared decoration.”

Akechi looked inquisitively from Akira to the self until it set in. Had Akira not reclaimed the empty half of the shelf ever since Akechi had thrown his roommate tantrum? Akechi’s face flushed. _How embarrassing_. “It’s not a problem. I don’t really need the space, I’ve realized.”

Akira continued to admire the flowers, seeming so… genuine. It was making Akechi squirm—he had put a lot of thought into something for once and it didn’t totally backfire in his face. The absolute look of adoration Akira wore felt as though it was almost directed to Akechi himself.

“Say, Akechi.”

“Hm?”

“What exactly did you tell her? For the bouquet.”

“O-oh, it was just…” no _way_ was he telling Akira what he had told her. “I just told her a…” even this much was hard to say. “A friend was upset, and I’d like to help them feel better.” It was basically the truth. Satisfied with his answer, Akechi went to offer Akira a pleasant smile, but it seemed Morgana had different plans.

“No way! You said way more than that!” Akechi shot him a death glare. Morgana persisted. “You should have been there! He was all, _I’m always thinking about him, longing to be closer to him!_ ” Akechi sputtered. “No! That isn’t—I just said I wanted to be closer to him, not that I was always thinking about him!”

“You said _often_ , or something like that. Same thing! Akira, he was _gushing_ about you.” Akechi was considering throwing himself out the window. He had made the cat promise not to talk about the UFO catcher incident, but he hadn’t considered what he had said to the florist in the slightest. He half expected a third persona to awaken from how raw and intense his embarrassment was. A fire persona, most likely. That wouldn’t be any good for Takamaki, though.

All of these thoughts were torn from him as Akira began laughing a hearty, proper laugh. Akechi stared at him, mouth hung open, and he was suddenly much less mad at Morgana. He should have trusted him—he clearly knew what would help cheer Akira up, to some extent. His laughter sounded absolutely _holy_. “Okay, okay,” Akira managed out through those breathy heavenly laughs, “you can stop teasing him, Morgana.” The smile on Akira’s face was so warm and pleasant and genuine. Akechi could hardly handle it, but he couldn’t just _look away_. What the hell? How was Akira so radiant? The contrast from how he had been not even thirty minutes ago was really impacting the moment.

“Thank you, Akechi. It’s… really nice to hear that.” Akira then turned away from him, looking briefly back at the flowers. “Of course. I’m simply happy to help.” Akechi responded, voice cooler than his head felt.

“One more thing.”

“Oh?”

“The white flower.” Akira turned to him again. “The one in the middle, the white orchid. Did she… mention why she put that one in?”

Wasn’t that the one Morgana had pointed out, too? Just what was it about that flower? “She said it broke up the colors and generally added to the composition. Why?” Akira smiled—it almost looked a little sad—and turned away. “Ah, alright. I figured.”

“Does that flower mean something?”

“No, it’s just pretty. Hey, y’know,” Akira flopped back down on the bed next to Akechi, reaching behind him to grab the movie he’d rented. “I think I feel up to watching this. I can’t promise I’ll stay awake, though.”

“Of course.” Akechi hurried up to move chairs in front of the TV, mimicking how Akira had set it up when they watched movies in the past, but Akira stopped him. “No, actually, drag the table closer to the bed. Then,” he patted the spot next to him, “you can join me over here, under the comforter. It’s really cold right now, anyways.” Akechi followed his orders wordlessly, putting forth his best effort to hide his bright red face as he set up the TV, praying Akira didn’t notice the flush on his ears.

“This movie sounds kind of feel-good,” Akira commented as Akechi set up. “Mm, it seemed the least stressful of any of the options,” he agreed.

\--

Of all the ways to end the night, Akechi had _not_ expected to be consoled by Akira. Stubbornly turned away from the other boy as he sobbed into the comforter, Akechi managed to grumble out, “I didn’t expect it to be like _that!_ S-so… _raw! So emotional!_ ” Honestly, Akechi was shocked by his own reaction. Maybe it was the tenderness of being so close to another while watching it, but something about that movie had _destroyed_ him. Akira, rubbing comforting circles into Akechi’s back, mumbled a soft, “maybe the themes of family got to you a bit, too.” Akechi didn’t comment, putting his effort instead towards not crying. “Sorry, I’m sorry. You weren’t supposed to be comforting _me_.” Akechi, who had finally composed himself somewhat, turned back to Akira. He was a bit embarrassed to seem so vulnerable but seeing Akira in a similar state earlier made it a bit easier.

“It’s fine. That’s how this sort of stuff is supposed to be, anyways.”

“…Me crying? I suppose I deserve it, but…”

“No, no!” Akira chuckled a bit and Akechi pouted at the teasing laugh. “As in, like… friendship. This is mutual.” That damn warm smile again. “I’m proud of you, Akechi.” Akechi turned away, face red again. With the amount of blood Akira’s forced to his head today, Akechi’s almost gotten his due blood penance for having shot him in the head. Same difference.

“You don’t need to be.”

“You’re trying. I appreciate it.”

“I’ve liked to. I’d like to, I mean. Continue to help.”

Akira gently, as if he’d break Akechi—or maybe more accurately, break the moment—wrapped his arms around Akechi’s waist and rested his head in the crook of his shoulder. “Sorry for this,” he mumbled, obscured by Akechi’s hair. Akechi barely heard the apology over his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. Then, Akechi thought of saying a million things in that moment. They were all impulsive, momentary thoughts, but one phrase in particular caught in his head, words he’d never actually, to his memory, said, words he’d never heard in his direction—from someone he actually knew, not a raving fan—words that scared him beyond reason.

 _I love you_.

He _couldn’t_ love Kurusu Akira. How long had he truly known him? How many awful things had he _done_ to him? It was cruel. It was horribly cruel. He only felt this way because he’s easy to manipulate, he was sure. Akira is offering him more affection, more approval, more _want_ than anyone had ever spared him in his life—he was being offered what he thought was a rare commodity, an immensely valuable one at that. The weak part of him, the part of him that allowed himself to be strung along by Shido nearly to his grave, was telling him he was in love. He would deny it. As he had his entire life, he resolved to deny his feelings, breaking his promises of truth to Akira, but only for this. At the very least, he would deny them until he had the self-control to love someone and not fall victim to their every whim again, until he could love someone and desire mutual affection in favor of an unhealthy draining need of it, when he could love someone but also desire to know and interact with others aside from that person. _That_ was the love Akira deserved. Not the weakness, the filth, that had just manifested in Akechi’s heart. If persona users could have a palace, Akechi’s would be this attic, and Akira would be God.

It was unhealthy. Everything Akira had taught him up to that point indicated that it was unhealthy, and Akechi felt this way because he was weak. He wasn’t ready for it, wasn’t strong enough to love Akira properly. So, instead of saying those three words, he shakily reciprocated the hug and said,

“Goro.”

Akira flinched. Akechi felt his eyes snap open as his stupid long lashes fluttered against his neck.

“Only if you’d like to, of course. You can call me Goro.”

“Please,” Akira murmured, desperate. “Please call me Akira.”

Akechi inhaled, closed his eyes.

“Of course, Akira.”

There was a palpable goal before him. He felt stupid to feel this way, he felt there were many things he had to consider about himself—he probably needed to talk to someone about all of this, because it was quite overwhelming. The fact he was so attracted to another man was alarming on top of everything else. But it was a _goal_ , he had a clear outlined goal to work towards in this dusty, frigid attic.

To be strong enough to give Kurusu Akira the love he deserved. Whether it be reciprocated or not, he just wanted to love someone properly, for the first time in his life. He wanted this goal _so badly_. So, starting tomorrow, he would truly begin to try with all of his might.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adoration Orchid - Small white flower with a little scene. Used to confess love.  
> you've already confessed!!! you fool!!!!!!!!!  
> next time im thinking akechi will interact with ann and have a heart to heart! stay tuned!


End file.
